


Sick kid

by Dinkdidnothingwrong



Category: Ender's Game - All Media Types
Genre: Bean and Sarge have (dun dun) Tension, Hey look its rottingdam, Like coughing up blood, Not really Homestuck but I use the dream bubbles., Sarge's always sick, watch out its sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkdidnothingwrong/pseuds/Dinkdidnothingwrong
Summary: Sarge gets sick. Again.





	Sick kid

They left him.   
Sarge clutched his side, hacking up mucus as he went along the streets. Usually he’d be hiding in the back alleys, scavenging for food and all that, but it was best for him to keep his distance. Didn’t want to get the others sick. Didn’t want the others to watch him be sick. How’d he even catch the flu? Dumb question, he didn’t drink clean water and the air was always dirty in Rottingdam. Spit dripped down his chin and soon he had to stop. His lungs hurt, breath heavy and hot. Bean and Achilles had left him to suffer this out himself, probably able to sense the virus from miles away. They were like that, magical with intuition. Lucky Bean, he can tell when someone’s evil! Lucky Achilles, he can fake a valuable relationship! Poor Sargent, he gets colds and flus and no one takes him seriously, even though he’s gotten a lot bigger and stronger and could kick the shit out of Achilles if he ever tried to show his disgusting mug again. Sliding down the wall, he hacked into his sleeve, coating it in a thin slimy film. Oh Sarge, Bean would say in that high-pitched voice of his. Why’d you do that? You’re only ever sick because you do that ya know. “Yeah Bean I do know that but I don’t really have a lot of options do I no-“  
“Boy?” Sarge looked up, sucking up snot in an attempt to look less pathetic. It was a police officer.  
“What you want Lijke? Ain’t illegal to die in front of fine folks.”  
“Well loitering is. Move it.”  
“Yeah yeah, I’m going. Homeless sick kids aren’t good poster boys I know.” Sarge went to stand, but his legs were wobbly and he had to lean against the building to steady himself. Something in his mouth tasted odd, and as he turned around to get going he sneezed onto his front.   
Blood.  
“Oh damn.” He muttered, lumbering off. So this is why they left. He was actually dying. He’d had some close scrapes, but he’d never coughed up blood before. Eh, whatever, he was getting old anyway. 12 in a few months. That was Poke’s record, so he better not break it. She’d be mad when she saw him again. They were stupid like that. Tried to break each other’s records on living. Andre would probably be looking for him now. He’d take care of the other kids, but he couldn’t stand them for too long, thank god Shelbie was the oldest and next in line. Something inside him lurched, and he swallowed down vomit. It was too warm, he was too queasy, oh sweet god in heaven I guess I’m sorry? Just don’t get too judgmental big guy.

Where was his ribbon? Sargent didn’t know when he’d stopped feeling it, but it certainly wasn’t wrapped around his head like usual. Neither were his ratty shoes, or his paper thin jacket that hung around his shoulders. “My, my ribbon…”  
“Shhh. Don’t worry Sarge, you’ll have as many ribbons as you want soon.” Cooed a voice, high but soft. Sarge sat up noticing that the shirt and pants he was wearing fit him. And he was in a bed. A nice one.  
Blasphemy.  
The soreness in his throat had subsided, and a wonderful smell was coming from the teacup next to him. He sipped at it, not particularly liking but not particularly hating the berry flavor.   
“Who are you? Where are you?”   
“Over this way.” Sarge swiveled, greeted by a tiny boy in a command school uniform. Poke sat to his right, sipping her own cup of juice.   
“Poke???”  
“Sup Sarge.” She waved. “How long you been stuck in that dream bubble Sukkel?”   
“Stuck…?”  
“Yeah? You’ve been gone for two years man. Have you really spent two years reliving your own death?” Reliving? He just died!  
“Poke he just got out. He’ll be loopy for a few days. Do you want more tea?”  
“Shut up Bean, your tea sucks.”  
“Tough crowd.” Bean grumbled. He took Sarge’s cup and left the room, placing his ribbon on the end table nearby.   
“Here.” Poke tied it around his head like before, when they were young and he’d just joined the street crew, fingers too chubby and inexperienced to tie anything.   
“It’s nice to see you again.” He whispered, grinning.  
“Yeah, you too.” She slapped his back heartily and off.


End file.
